Typed for a Corpse by Pruitt Alan

Author:Pruitt, Alan [Pruitt, Alan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Pulp
Publisher: Handi-Books
Published: 1951-01-25T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

If Mrs. Everleigh was even slightly surprised to find Carson in her home, she didn’t show it. She shot a quick look past him at her husband and then smiled, a slow, challenging smile. “How do you do?” she said.

Carson nodded.

“You’re back early,’ Everleigh remarked.

“Yes, I was mistaken about the time for my appointment at the beauty shop. And how is Mr. Carson? Working hard?”

“No-o, just getting ready for work.”

“Will you have a drink?” she asked.

“No, thanks,” Carson replied. “I have to run along now.”

Neither offered any objection and Mrs. Everleigh walked to the door with him.

After the door closed, Carson took a few steps down the corridor, paused, returned and pressed his ear against the door.

It opened and he found himself looking down into Mrs. Everleigh’s amused dark eyes. “Did you forget something?” she asked.

There was no use pretending. She had caught him redhanded. “Yes,” he said softly. “Where was something I wanted to ask you. About that note.”

“Note? What note?” Her voice was not so guarded as his, and he sensed that Everleigh had moved out of earshot, that she had little fear of being overheard.

“Wouldn’t you rather we talked about it alone?” he suggested.

“Mr. Everleigh has gone into the bathroom,” she said. “But that isn’t a bad suggestion. I’ll be down in the cocktail lounge in a few minutes.”

Carson nodded and left. The lounge was just off the lobby. There was a small bar on the right. Semi-circular red cushioned leather chairs stood around a dozen tables. The lounge was softly lighted, a cozy rendezvous. There were only two couples in the room and Carson chose a table far enough away from them to be able to talk freely without being overheard.

Mrs. Everleigh appeared shortly, looking very much alive, but not the least bit excited. When they were seated and a hovering waiter had taken their order, she looked directly at him and said: “Well, what would you like to know? I have a hunch that the time has come for me to tell all.”

Carson would have been taken aback had it not been for the shadow of a smile that played at the corners of her mouth and the speculative light that lurked in her partly veiled eyes.

“I would like to know,” he said, “a lot of things. First, do you know who pushed Norden off the roof?”

She smiled openly. “Of course not.”

“What is this ‘all’ you have to tell me then?”

“You mentioned a note.”

He nodded, trying to read her eyes.

“I’m going to be quite frank,” she said. “I was foolish to have been otherwise heretofore. But I didn’t figure you were so smart.” She paused to observe the effect of her words. “You see, I didn’t want to get mixed up in this thing if I could help it. Now I see that the only way for me to clear myself is to explain a few things that are bothering you. The note, for instance.”

Carson nodded. Either she was a marvelous actress or she had nothing to do with the murder of Keith Norden.

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